


Sweater Weather

by sindubu



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:58:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4855547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sindubu/pseuds/sindubu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene's neighbor really likes fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

It begins -- like it always does -- with a chill in the air.

Irene doesn’t bother taking a jacket with her when she hurries down the steps of her porch to get to work in the morning. Her bus is packed with people, so she can’t tell one way or the other with the weather until she gets off and finds herself running her hands up and down her bare arms, trying to get warm.

It happens again the next day, and the one after that, too. In a week, Irene’s caught on enough to notice the leaves beginning to fall from the trees in her neighborhood, spots of reds, yellows, and browns beginning to overtake the green.

Fall always tends to arrive subtly, bathing her in golden light of an early sunset on her walk home. Irene dusts off the cardigans and long socks folded away in her closet, irons what needs to be ironed and hangs them up for later.

\---

There’s a stray cat that likes to sneak into Irene’s backyard and lounge lazily in the birdbath, and Irene’s setting out a bowl of milk one day when she looks over into the next yard. 

Her neighbor -- a girl with orange tipped hair named Seulgi -- is raking leaves into a large pile. Her tongue is caught between her teeth and she’s gathering the leaves with such attentiveness that it makes Irene stare in bemusement. She’s never seen anyone take yard work so seriously before.

And then -- without warning -- she throws the rake aside and dives in, landing amongst a sea of autumn leaves and laughing to herself.

Irene holds her hand to her mouth, covering a smile, when the girl looks over and catches sight of her. She freezes for a moment as though if she doesn’t move, she can’t be seen in a makeshift camouflage.

Irene looks down and busies herself with scratching the ears of the stray cat now nudging at her ankle before going back inside.

It would be a lie to say if the animal’s dusty orange coat doesn’t remind her of Seulgi, of the brightness of her childish smile and hair. 

She leaves out an extra bowl of milk.

\---

It’s her first day off in weeks, and Irene knows she should be focusing on her senior thesis, but her little sister calls her up and asks to go to the town pumpkin patch with her, and well. Most teenagers don’t care to spend time with family, so Irene thinks she should embrace what offers she gets.

“I wish you’d stop growing,” she laments when Yerim walks up to her with a grin that takes up half her face. She’s dragged along a friend from school whose eyes light up when Irene offers to treat them to snacks. 

Kids are so easy to please, Irene thinks as Sooyoung squawks when Yerim takes a chunk out of her cotton candy. 

She stands back and takes pictures as her sister and Sooyoung pose in front of the “Biggest Pumpkin in the World” (surprise, it’s really not) and upload them to their SNS. She makes a face when she makes the mistake of reading over Yerim’s shoulder, not understanding half the things she says. Youths.

With some convincing and gentle prying, though, Irene’s gotten the two to settle down at a pumpkin carving booth. She swings her legs over a stool and watches with some amusement as Sooyoung carves a gaping mouth into hers and says it _looks just like you, Yerim-ah._

Irene shakes her head and lets the sounds of them bicker over each other fade into white noise when a pumpkin is dropped firmly on the table in front of her. She looks up, startled, into the contrast of dark eyes and a brilliant smile.

“Penny for your carvings?” Seulgi asks, handing her a small carving knife.

She accepts the knife cautiously and looks at the pumpkin in question. It’s nice. Probably not from the reject pile given to children whose parents hover worriedly as their kids stab mindlessly to create their ‘art.’ 

Seulgi draws up a stool opposite her and heaves a second pumpkin onto the table.

“I’ll do one with you,” she offers, eyes crinkling in promise, “We donate the ones people don’t keep to the church, but if there’s too many, the volunteers get to take them home.” 

She stares at Irene in such a way that she forgets that she needs to respond, so a little belatedly, Irene nods and glances at her pumpkin again, eyebrows furrowed. “Right.”

Seulgi’s already slicing cleanly into hers when she notices Irene still hasn’t touched her pumpkin. “When all else fails, go scary,” she nods reassuringly, “If you make the eyes different shapes and the mouth lopsided, you can just say you meant to do it.”

Irene bites down on her smile and nods. She makes the first cut into her pumpkin and becomes inspired by an idea. While they work on their designs, they talk, or, Seulgi talks and Irene listens. They go to the same university -- which, _obviously,_ Irene thinks to herself, there’s only one -- and Seulgi’s a one year below her, a junior. She’s an art major, and she once took a class with Irene’s roommate, Wendy, who does music composition.

“Ready?” Seulgi says, once they’ve both put their knives down. She stands up a little straighter and when she tries to peek over to see what hers looks like, Irene swats at her arm.

Seulgi blinks at the physical contact, looking down at her arm, then at Irene. She beams.

“On three?” Irene mutters, cheeks warm. Seulgi nods approvingly. “One, two… three!”

Irene looks at the expertly carved Pikachu in the pumpkin and smiles. Seulgi’s laughter is rich and alive when she sees Irene’s pumpkin that spells out _Student Loans ):_ with a flourish.

\--- 

It’s midterm season, and Irene’s trying to balance studying and working by propping a history textbook behind the espresso machine at the student cafe. 

There’s another cafe in the downstairs library, and another conveniently located in the cafeteria, so normally, they’re not too busy. With everyone’s exam dates coming up soon, though, Irene’s sleeves are rolled to her elbows and she’s barely gotten through three pages of reading in the first two hours of work. 

She’s already got her thumb ready to hit the button for a triple shot espresso (Irene’s not sure what classes some of these people are taking, but she’s glad she doesn’t need that much caffeine) when she hears a soft _“oh,”_ and looks up. 

“Irene-sshi,” Seulgi bows clumsily, and there’s something about the air of nervousness and the way her white beanie contrasts with her dark hair that makes her shake her head and offer the girl a kind smile. 

“It’s, um, it’s unnie,” Irene answers, before adding, “if you like. If you’re comfortable.” 

Seulgi hides her grin behind her wallet -- covered with stickers of cartoons -- and looks up at the menu. “Is the pumpkin spice latte any good?” she asks, mouth dipping into a small pout, “When I order it at Starbucks, it’s too sweet. It just tastes like corn syrup and food dye.” 

“A real tragedy.” The corners of Irene’s mouth are twitching, and she hits the combo for the drink into the register, putting in her employee discount just because. “I like it. We add a little bit of vanilla, so it brings out the pumpkin flavor.” 

“Ah,” Seulgi seems to take this into consideration, like her hot beverage choice is ultimately a Very Important Decision, “I’ll have that, then.” 

Irene hands her her change and sets to work. She hesitates once the foam has collected at the top of the drink. Hearts are cliche, aren’t they? 

“Is something wrong?” Seulgi asks her across the divider, probably alarmed at the concerned expression she’s been giving the latte for the past thirty seconds. She’s been working here long enough that she doesn’t mess up orders, usually. 

“No,” Irene replies, handing the drink over to her with two hands once she’s decided on what to draw. Seulgi might be the art major, but Irene’s been working on latte art for a few months now. “Careful, it’s hot.” 

She knows she’s supposed to be studying between orders, but Irene can’t help but glance every few seconds over toward Seulgi’s table in the corner, watching the way the girl looks at the cartoon bear in her latte like Christmas has come a season early. 

\--- 

It begins -- like it always does -- with a chill in the air. 

Irene’s humming along to a song she heard on the radio, walking home from the bus stop, when she hears her name being called; she glances behind where Seulgi hurries to meet her, flashing her a disarming smile and adjusting the strap of her book bag as she falls into step. 

“Do you always work so late?” Seulgi asks after they’re walked for a few minutes. 

“It’s not really that late, is it?” answers Irene, pointing out the setting sun along the horizon -- it’s barely five in the evening, “It’s getting closer and closer to winter, so the days are getting shorter.” 

She’s surprised Seulgi asks -- for a girl who loves fall as much as she does, Irene wouldn’t have figured she’d have missed that. Still, Seulgi nods and waits a beat, as though screwing up the nerve for something. 

“It’s cold earlier now, too,” Seulgi says slowly; Irene looks out of the corner of her eye and notices that she’s all bundled up, in a scarf and a cream colored sweater with red stripes. She looks… cozy. Irene tries not to linger too much on it. 

“I’ve noticed… you wear a lot of cardigans, “ Seulgi continues, at the same pace as before, like she’s testing the way Irene responds before carrying on. Her boots are dragging against the sidewalk and it looks like she doesn’t want to reach either of their houses. “They’re -- they’re nice, but they don’t look too warm.” 

“I’m waiting for my next paycheck to stock up on thermals,” Irene shrugs. “Wendy always cranks up the heating by the time I get home, anyway. Canadian thing?” 

“That’s good,” she nods. She stops walking suddenly and touches Irene’s sleeve, tugging her toward her. “It, um, it probably doesn’t help on your walks home, though, I bet.” 

“Seul -- ” 

“I just thought,” Seulgi explains, cheeks as rosy red as the scarf she places around Irene’s neck, “You should be warm.” 

Irene’s lost for words, fingers playing at the ends of the scarf, before she looks back at the girl. 

“My hands get cold, too, you know,” she says casually, and Seulgi whips her head up to look at her so fast Irene’s worried for a moment she’ll get whiplash. 

“T-then,” she stammers, reaching over for Irene’s hand, to find that they meet each other midway. Seulgi interlaces their fingers together first, though. “I’ll keep them warm, too.” 

“My lips feel frozen today.” 

_“What?”_

Irene laughs and squeezes Seulgi’s hand. She doesn’t let go until she reaches her doorstep and raises her eyebrows at the lone pumpkin hanging out at her windowsill. 

“Students loans are pretty scary,” Seulgi agrees. 

**Author's Note:**

> This probably so Americanized it's gross, ngl, but if you've read this far despite that, thanks! Title comes from the obvious song, and if anyone cares, I was listening to the Kina Grannis cover. I write too much fluff as it is, but I was romanticizing fall weather since I'm suffering through the last dregs of summer atm.


End file.
